


Like Smoke

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-17
Updated: 2006-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Like Smoke

So Pete and Patrick did the one-hour radio show for four days ( _"where are Joe and Andy?"_ read some of the emails to the station, but that was their business, Patrick said so and Peter shut his mouth on that one) and they had fun.

A lot of fun.

Actually Patrick had slightly more fun than Pete, because he wasn't in front of a hundred thousand eyes that rested on him like so many judging weights; and Pete had fun because Patrick had the sort of voice that was made for the radio: husky and smooth at the same time as it coiled its way through the clunky headphones Pete had to have jammed on his head ( _God_ , his _hair_ ); fucking curled like smoke out those headphones and straight to Pete's groin.

Like stated before.

He had fun.

 

And later that last night as they lay in bed, Pete's arms up behind his own head and Patrick curled up right against him, his cheek resting on Pete's bicep, he tried to explain the smoky-voice concept, and Patrick had laughed. Jesus. Even his laugh was smoky too.

"Smoky? What's that supposed to mean?" Patrick had questioned softly, his breath gusting sweet wind in the curve of Pete's neck and Pete tried and failed miserably at suppressing a shiver. Patrick, just to mess him up even more _(that asshole)_ slowly ran his hand up along Pete's side, barely touching the shirtless flesh and every hair on Pete's body decided to make a standing ovation.

Along with other things.

His cock, for instance.

Pete bit his lip, trying hard not to give in to Patrick's little game. He was trying to explain something, dammit.

"I mean... _(Patrick's roaming hand slipped inquisitively over one nipple)_...you have a fantastic singing voice, you know that, already... _(that fucking hand was going down now, the palm brushing over Pete's bellybutton)_.....but when you talk.... _(it was slipping underneath the waist of that ratty blue pajama bottoms that Pete adored)_.....its like.....like....."

"Smoke?" Patrick said in a low, slow voice, and as that voice wrapped itself in the shell of Pete's ear, that wandering hand curled around Pete's excruciating hardness and slipped leisurely up, down once and Pete nearly lost it.

God.

And apparently Patrick wasn’t quite done trying to drive Pete mad.

“I really didn’t know you were so big on my speaking voice,” Patrick continued in that same low tone, making Pete grab his own wrists tucked behind his head. Patrick’s hand was still moving so slow and Pete whimpered, raising his hips slightly every time Patrick’s hand _(that fucking hand)_ reached the leaking head. “If I knew that I’d be talking in your ear like this all the time, Pete.”

Yeah.

That was quite enough.

He removed his hands from behind his head, grabbed that devious _(talented)_ hand _(his dick hated him for that)_ , and rolled over on Patrick, making sure to grab the other hand in case it got any ideas. He ended up straddling Patrick, both of them gasping slightly as Pete pinned him down by the wrists. Instead of looking surprised, Patrick merely had a smug expression.

“I wonder if I could make you come just by talking.”

Pete didn’t have to wonder about a thing like that, so he leant forward as quickly as he could, his hands tightening on Patrick’s wrists, and kissed him thoroughly. Patrick pressed up into the kiss, moaning, and that didn’t help Pete’s situation at all, because a Patrick moan was the hottest thing you would ever hear. He licked a heated jagged path along Patrick’s jaw line and Patrick was muttering something, it could have been the Pledge of Allegiance for all Pete knew, but it was wrapped up in that huskiness…and great, Patrick was twisting his hands free of Pete’s grip, and those Houdini hands were pulling at his pajama bottoms. Pulling them off. Pete reached out one hand and fumbled with the drawer of the night-table, getting out the lube while letting his parted lips took a slow dragging walk on the brow of Patrick’s bare shoulder.

“Give me that.” Patrick commanded clearly and Pete squinted down at him, panting in shallow bursts as the criminal hands rubbed the warmed gel over his cock.

He bent his head to Patrick’s neck and then stopped sucking at the racing pulse just long enough to de-pants the Great Talker, and in a moment it all stopped being molasses slow and sped up to dizzying speeds, but that fucker Patrick was still talking, the smoke was all around and all within Pete now, and he heard bits and pieces, and the parts that pleased him the most were the murmured “please” and the sighed-out “oh” as Pete pressed himself slowly against Patrick’s entrance and slipped slowly in. Stopping. Waiting. Slipping in more.  And then slowly pushing in and out, allowing Patrick to help control the pace and the angle until Patrick was gone far past actual words and just making the sounds and it was still smoke _(how the hell did he manage that?)_ and Pete couldn’t think anymore, he was practically choking on Patrick’s sound, feel, taste, smell and there was such a thing as overload.

Overload. For both of them.

And explosive release.

God.

As he pulled out his softening length, he heard Patrick chuckling in that self-satisfied manner, and he bit that little bastard on the nipple.

“I’m going to chat non-stop in your ear from now on,” vowed Patrick, his honeyed laugh _(smoke and honey, wtf, Pete?)_ draped all over that sentence.

“Don’t even play that way, Patrick,” Pete mumbled, laying beside him and pulling the sheets back over them. “If you do that, I’d have to hold you down in public.”

And before Patrick would come back with some smartass reply, Pete kissed him firmly, shutting him up.

 **  
**


End file.
